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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260095">help me out, don't let me down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsboysrebellion/pseuds/newsboysrebellion'>newsboysrebellion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Families of Choice, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, I think?, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, SHIPPERS DNI, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Touch-Starved, dont ask me to explain my storys worldbuilding, hybrids exist, i dont even know tbh i decided yesterday, ish, its abt the Found Family guys, no beta we die like dream in manhunt 4v1 finale rematch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:53:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsboysrebellion/pseuds/newsboysrebellion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What was one supposed to say when confronting a child rummaging through somebody’s trash like a raccoon, who would bolt at the slightest movement?</p><p>He settled on asking him about the last time they met, heart beating quickly due to the sheer amount of unknown and possibilities that could come out of this interaction. “Did you take the pastry I left?”</p><p>The boy flinched again, jerked his head in a hesitant and frightened nod.</p><p>“Good.” Wilbur let out a quick exhale of relief. At least the kid got some food that night and his efforts didn’t go to the wolves. “...I can get more, if you want?”</p><p> </p><p>Or: homeless child gets adopted by a teenager with snacks, more at eleven.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>835</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. pastry on a barrel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>:D</p><p> </p><p>please god let me finish this</p><p>title from line of sight by odesza! i am just thinking abt the late august animatic Real Hard</p><p>as always if any of the creators want this taken down, i will ofc</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wilbur spotted him on his walk home from Niki’s bakery, that week’s order of bread and pastries piled in a basket someone had forgotten to put a handle on in his arms. That someone was Phil, surely, but Wilbur never found it inconvenient enough to mention.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The “him” in question, however, was trying to sprint sneakily under the porch of a neighbouring house, hands clutched around what, under further inspection, appeared to be two apples. He guessed they were from a tree on a neighbour’s property.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stopped in his tracks, muttering a curse when he almost dropped his basket. The kid stopped too, like a deer in headlights, stiff and wide-eyed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what a headlight was. As far as he knew, they didn’t exist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stared at the boy, and the boy stared back at him. Neither of them moved an inch. The boy was clearly frightened, tensed as if ready to bolt, hunched in a way that implied he would willingly fight if it came to it. His clothes were </span>
  <em>
    <span>filthy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His face and hair looked covered in dirt, the latter greasy as well, as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, and his bones were poking out in ways Wilbur felt uneasy seeing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kid was, as anyone could tell, homeless, and had probably only managed to scrounge up those two apples for food. They stared at each other for a tense moment longer before Wilbur moved, reaching into his basket to hand the kid a loaf of bread.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy flinched. Wilbur stopped moving immediately, worried that if he didn’t the boy would’ve tried something. He wished he had, anyway, and had continued his movement to offer him food, because a second later the boy had bolted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So much for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…He left a smaller pastry on top of a nearby barrel anyway, hoping that the kid would stop by to find it before the birds did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He found the boy again, this time on the way </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span> niki’s bakery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur had tried warming up a loaf of bread on the fire two days ago and had ended up burning it to the point of inedibility. Phil had laughed at him and had sent him to fetch another order as soon as they had gotten through the other loaf, five days later. Quite rude of him, honestly, but Wilbur enjoyed the fresh air and his chats with Niki so he didn’t complain about it too much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was awfully inconvenient, though, that he had nothing but an empty basket with him when he spotted the kid rummaging through somebody’s trashbin in an alleyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited until the kid’s head resurfaced from inside of it, not wanting to startle him too much. “Hello.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy flinched violently, dropping whatever it was he was holding back into the bin. He had tensed, again, torn between the urge to fight or flee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A tense silence grew, just as it had the day before, as Wilbur searched for something to say or do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kid didn’t make the next move, either, frozen like if he were quiet enough Wilbur would forget he was even there. Nevermind how they were nearly having a staring contest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Wilbur had to guess he would say the boy was around nine, maybe, but he hadn’t actually interacted with a child of that age in quite a while, so there was a good chance he was inaccurate, he supposed. He definitely hadn’t interacted with one who was nearly starving to death and seemed to only have one set of clothes, tattered and too small. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What was one supposed to say when confronting a child rummaging through somebody’s trash like a raccoon, who would bolt at the slightest movement?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He settled on asking him about the last time they met, heart beating quickly due to the sheer amount of unknown and possibilities that could come out of this interaction. “Did you take the pastry I left?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy flinched again, jerked his head in a hesitant and frightened nod.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Wilbur let out a quick exhale of relief. At least the kid got some food that night and his efforts didn’t go to the wolves. “...I can get more, if you want?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy looked now confused on top of being frightened, but he nodded hesitantly again, taking a half-step back from the trash can, still tensed as if he needed to run as soon as Wilbur moved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Wilbur said, soft and trying to be reassuring. “Where should I bring them, once I get them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy still looked bewildered, but he watched him steel himself in resignation, as if he thought Wilbur wasn’t actually going to do it. “Here, I guess,” he mumbled after a moment’s pause. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur felt the weight of a little bit of uncertainty leave him. He had a destination, a goal. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another beat. Neither of them moved. The air around them was as thick as molasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go do that now,” he announced, “um. Bye!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stepped back and away with an awkward wave. The boy still had that amalgamation of emotions on his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nobody but Niki had to know if he bought a loaf of bread and two small pastries more than normal. Nobody but him and the boy who scavenged like a raccoon had to know why he came home without those extra orders and his jacket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Winter was approaching, anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking for the boy every time he went outside since their second encounter. Which, speaking of, was a week and a half ago, and Wilbur was slightly worried the boy had frozen to death or something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that he regretted giving the boy his coat, not at all, he was just also very cold. Techno had snorted at him when Wilbur sheepishly said that he had lost it, and now he had to resort to wearing three of his sweaters at once until Phil bought him a new jacket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It certainly didn’t help how he was outside a lot more since he lost it, going on walks to visit Niki, Schlatt, or Schlatt’s new friend Quackity, all in hopes of running into a homeless child he had somehow grown a little attached to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would say this was weird if not for the fact that this had essentially happened to Phil twice and was the entire reason why he and Techno have a solid place to call home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s taken to putting snacks in his pockets whenever he leaves the house. Phil sended him questioning looks the first couple times he did it, but Wilbur just shrugs his shoulders and tells him he’s hungrier than normal recently. A good excuse; he’s tall for his age and recently had a growth spurt. He doesn’t run into the boy, though, and therefore has no one to give the snacks to, so he often just ends up eating them in his room as convenient midnight snacks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finally sees the boy again two weeks after the second time he met him. Surprisingly, it’s the kid who makes the first move, not Wilbur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oi!” He says, and Wilbur jumps a bit, the shout having disrupted the silence. “Tall ass!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wh- Tall ass?!” Wilbur shrieks back, once he’s identified the voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um,” the kid stuttered, apparently not prepared for Wilbur to respond. “I wanted- um. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was wearing Wilbur’s jacket, again behind a trash can in the alleyway from before. The jacket was much too big on him, and Wilbur couldn’t help but find that and the sincere thank-you endearing. “You’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An awkward and still-tense silence stretched while both of them waited for the other to do something. The boy was, once again, in a guarded position, still looking ready to fight or run at a moment’s notice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” the boy asked awkwardly, hesitantly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur. What’s yours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um. Tom-- Tommy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Tommy,” Wilbur greeted. Another stretch of silence, he was really starting to hate those. “Have you gotten anything to eat today?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy flushed, suddenly defensive. “No. It’s fine, you don’t need to--” Wilbur was already pulling out the snacks from his pocket-- “...Do you have any more of those pastries?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, but I have these!” He held out the snacks--a bar, a muffin, and an apple--to Tommy, who eagerly snatched them up and backed up to his original spot again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw. I liked those.” Tommy almost took a bite out of the muffin, but hesitated, looking up at Wilbur as if asking permission. Wilbur’s gut churned a bit at the realization, but he nodded. Tommy put the apple and the bar carefully in the pocket of his jacket before biting into the muffin. “This is good!” he said, awed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed a bit. “That’s good.” A beat. “How old are you, Tommy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A shrug. “I dunno.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Huh. He’d have to figure that out later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stood there for a few minutes longer while Tommy devoured the muffin, both trying to fill the awkward silence with aimless small talk. Wilbur’s pretty sure it didn’t work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked at his watch in a lull in the not-quite conversation. “Shit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy stilled, mid-bite. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, I just have to-- I have to go home now, sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. That’s okay! Bye, Wilbur!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“G’bye, Tommy.” He left with a wave, watching the kid nibble on the bar, shuffling back down the alley while doing so. Wilbur only just now realized that Tommy didn’t have shoes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Socks would be useless, if they got wet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He decided he just had to bring a blanket next time he saw him, then. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. fireplace in the bakery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>food is a goddamn love language. fuck you</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wilbur left the house the next day with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and three sweaters on his body. He had chosen a time to leave when Phil and Techno were both out, presumably in different areas of the castle, both doing their own forms of work, so that his blanket’s presence on him wouldn’t be anything of suspicion. He left a note on the dining room table that read “Gone to Niki’s-- be back later! -Wil :)” for Phil and Techno to read if they got home before him. Gods knew how either of them would react to any part of Wilbur’s situation-- the homeless child bit, the sneaking food, the reason why his jacket had gone missing, the blanket. It was a bit insane, Wilbur admitted, but it wasn’t like he could stop now. </p><p>His walk to the alleyway where he assumed Tommy would be was short, as per usual, hands carrying nothing but a book that Phil was meant to quiz him and Techno on later. He’d usually read it at night, as he tended to spend his days with his friends or home alone, writing music, but he had decided upon picking up the blanket that he wanted to give it to Tommy as soon as possible, even if it meant having to wait until the boy showed up.</p><p>And, as he suspected might happen, Tommy was nowhere to be seen between those houses, so Wilbur sat down on the ground and waited, opening up his book.</p><p>He had gotten about three chapters in when a young voice interrupted him. “Wilbur?”</p><p>“Hello, Tommy,” Wilbur greeted, bending the corner of the page he was reading inwards and closing the book. </p><p>Tommy crouched down a couple feet away from him, so Wilbur didn’t bother standing up. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Homework,” he responded. If he were in school he might’ve said it was boring, but Phil tended to read okay books, and gave a selection for Wilbur and Techno to choose one to study. He liked this one a little less than Techno, but it was alright. </p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>Wilbur blinked. “Homework?”</p><p>“Yeah, what is it?”</p><p>...How long had Tommy been homeless? Surely he was old enough to have been in school for a while. </p><p>“My… teacher, I guess, gave me this to read,” he explained instead, “and then he’s going to quiz me on it to make sure I remembered the important bits behind it.”</p><p>“Oh. That sounds stupid.” Tommy made a face.</p><p>“Yeah, a little bit,” Wilbur agreed, laughing a bit before unwrapping himself from the blanket and extending it to the kid.  “Here, this is for you.”</p><p>“Huh?” Tommy asked, arms full of blanket, a baffled look on his face. “Why?”</p><p>Wilbur shrugged, playing with the sleeves of his topmost sweater. “It’s winter.”</p><p>“Oh. Um, thank you!”</p><p>“No problem.”</p><p>They lapsed into silence, Wilbur’s gaze glancing between his sleeves and the book in his hands and Tommy, who was staring at the blanket and rubbing it between his fingers. The latter’s stomach growled a few moments later, with Tommy going rigid, glancing up at Wilbur.</p><p>…Shit, he had forgotten to bring snacks today. </p><p>“I’m hungry,” Tommy mumbled hesitantly, voice a little hopeful.</p><p>Shit. Fuck. Wilbur was going to cry. He was about to tell a child whose only food in who knows how long was from him that he didn’t have any to give him. Oh, gods. Wilbur felt very, very guilty and suddenly he was shaky and preparing himself for Tommy to hate him and he didn’t know how to fix any of it. </p><p>“Um,” he started, swallowing and staring at the ground guiltily, “I don’t-- I don’t have any, I forgot, I’m sorry.”</p><p>Tommy was quiet. Wilbur really was going to cry. “Oh.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay, I had food yesterday--”</p><p>“Wait--” Wilbur realised, looking at Tommy again. He was incredibly stupid, how could he forget? “The bakery!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You know, the bakery! There’s food there, we can get the pastries!” Wilbur said excitedly, trying to get Tommy to stop looking so resigned, because that hurt him deep in his gut; and it was clearly working, because his face lit up at the mention of pastries. Wilbur stood up, gesturing for Tommy to follow him. “C’mon! Let’s go!”</p><p>“I can come?” Tommy asked, voice now far more hopeful than resigned. </p><p>“Yeah, it’s not far!”</p><p>Wilbur waited while Tommy pulled himself up, the latter carefully wrapping the blanket over his shoulders and Wilbur’s coat. His feet were still bare. Wilbur wished he could fix that, but he pushed that thought aside as they walked, Tommy asking him more about the book he was reading and homework and how awful it sounded, about school, about the bakery.</p><p>The bakery was relatively empty when they entered. Niki was behind the counter, chatting and restocking with her coworker. Puffy, if Wilbur recalled correctly. Wilbur smiled when he saw her, waving to Puffy, who had looked over, and holding the door open for Tommy to enter, who laughed softly as warm air surrounded him. </p><p>“Niki!”</p><p>“Wil! Hi!” Niki greeted, turning away from Puffy, who went back into the kitchen to make more cake or pastries, or something. </p><p>“Is that your girlfriend?” Tommy blurted.</p><p><em>“Tommy!”</em> Wilbur gritted out, face dusting red. Niki laughed hard behind the counter. </p><p>“What? Is she or is she not?”</p><p>“No, she isn’t. Now be quiet.” Tommy did, also subtly shifting into the position to bolt like he had been in the first times they’d met, a glint of fear in his eyes. Wilbur wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been taught to watch body language, both from learned experience and from Techno literally teaching him.</p><p>Wilbur took a breath and backtracked, softening his tone. “Tell me what you want.”</p><p>“Um, the small pastries you left me, please. And a muffin?”</p><p>Wilbur pointed to the pastries Tommy had said he liked and a muffin similar to the one he had given him the day prior. He made the executive decision to get the boy a sandwich and two loaves of bread, as well. To Niki, he said: “We’ll be eating in here, if that’s alright? The bread is for later, though.”</p><p>“Of course!” Niki said, putting the pastries and a muffin on one plate, the sandwich on another, and wrapping the bread in yesterday’s newspaper. Wilbur thanked her, and she looked at him to silently ask where he wanted to sit, leading them to the table by the fireplace he had pointed at. “Your name is Tommy, right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Tommy said, sitting down only after Wilbur had. “Wilbur gave me a blanket today.”</p><p>“I can see that,” Niki smiled, setting both plates of food down in front of Tommy.”</p><p>“He has homework, you know,” he continued. </p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“It sounds terrible. Good thing I don’t have a home. Nobody can give me homework if I don’t have a home to do it in.”</p><p>Wilbur didn’t know if he should be allowed to laugh. He glanced at Niki, who gave him the same startled and concerned look.</p><p>“Eat your food, Tommy,” he said, forgoing the idea of an expected response entirely. Tommy hummed an answering noise and reached for a pastry. “Sandwich first.”</p><p>Tommy pouted but obliged. Wilbur paid Niki in the meantime, but she insisted that everything except the bread would be on the house. He felt a little guilty about it, and tried to protest and pay her anyway, but eventually he let her win. A determined Niki was hard to fight against. </p><p>He chatted with Niki while Tommy ate, the kid interjecting at points, until the bell attached to the door jingled and Niki had to serve the customer that had come in. Tommy seemed to already know the drill about eating slowly, savouring each bite more than Wilbur ever did when he was in this situation with Phil, so he pulled out his book again and continued to read in the pleasant silence. </p><p>He only got another chapter in, and Tommy three quarters into his sandwich, when Tommy gasped. Wilbur looked up, seeing his friend staring at the newspaper his bread was wrapped in. “What?”</p><p>“It’s November,” Tommy whined. “I’ve been ten for eight months! I forgot!”</p><p>“Two digits?” Wilbur exclaimed. Tommy looked a little lost, so he chose something else. “You’ll be eleven in five, then!”</p><p>“...How old are you, Wilbur?”</p><p>“I’m seventeen.”</p><p>“Wow. You’re old.” Tommy was onto his pastry now, which he ate a little quicker than the sandwich, not bothering to swallow before he spoke. </p><p>“Am not! Seventeen isn’t old.”</p><p>“Is too.”</p><p>“Is not.”</p><p>“Is too!”</p><p>“Maybe you’re just a child.”</p><p>“I’m not a child!” Tommy squawked, swallowing his bite of pastry. “I’m a big man! Big man with a big house, the size of the entire world!”</p><p>“Okay, Tommy.” Wilbur chuckled and went back to his book. Tommy grumbled and continued eating. </p><p>“...Can I save these?” Tommy asked, once he was finished with the pastry, pointing to the other sweet and the muffin.</p><p>“Yeah, of course, I’ll get another paper from Niki to wrap it in. You ready to go?”</p><p>Tommy nodded after a moment of consideration. “Thank you, Wilbur.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>He helped Tommy pack up, smiled bittersweetly when Tommy looked actually dumbfounded upon finding out that the bread Wilbur had bought was for him, as well. They waved Niki goodbye and thanked her for the food, and walked back to the alleyway. </p><p>Wilbur waved goodbye to Tommy, laughing when he made another comment about the status of his and Niki’s relationship, reminding the boy that it’s okay to be friends with a girl and not want to date them. Tommy just stuck his tongue out and thanked Wilbur again for the food.</p><p>Thank god Wilbur remembered the bakery and was able to get Tommy a meal. He just hoped Techno and Phil wouldn’t question a blanket being missing. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>gong xi fa cai motherfuckers</p><p> </p><p>the pastries are hamentaschen bc im feeling festive. ive been craving them for so long</p><p>thanks for reading!! drop a comment if u enjoyed!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. poorly-tamed hypothermia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>now i know this is more than just a few weeks late but i swear i said id work on it tommorow its just that tomorrow always turns into today and therefore i kept putting it off bc the passage of time means absolutely nothing to me</p><p>so sorry guys i hope u enjoy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Tommy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was in the alleyway again, three weeks after he and Tommy had gone to the bakery for the first time. He had taken the child back two days later, but then Phil had fallen ill and Wilbur and Techno had decided without discussion that they needed to be at home at all times until he was better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shame what being given a nice home does to a person. Wilbur ended up worrying for more people than himself, whether he wanted to or not. He couldn’t say he hadn't wanted this before Phil took him in, no, that’d be a lie. He loved having people who cared about him in the way he cared about them. He didn’t love the anxiety that came with it, though. He had convinced himself that something terrible might have happened if he were to leave, and Techno hadn’t been any better. So, despite Wilbur’s longing to check up on Tommy and reluctance to leave him alone in winter for so long in an alleyway, he had kept himself inside and with one eye on Phil at all times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, though, Phil was well enough to go back to work, and had been back for a week. He had teased Wilbur and Techno about their unnecessary worry and coddling since then, but Wilbur surely hadn’t missed how Phil had made it a point since recovering to be more present and affectionate towards the two, as some form of an apology for worrying them, and he was sure Techno hadn’t missed it either. None of them had mentioned it. Wilbur was just grateful all of them were okay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t forgotten about Tommy. In the week that had passed since Phil had started to work again Wilbur had gone to the alleyway three times, hoping to find the child, with no avail. He was on his fourth visit, now, and it looked like it would end with the same outcome as all of the rest of his attempts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He called Tommy’s name a second time, just to be sure. All he got was a cough from what he guessed was around the corner in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur hesitated, trying to hear anything else. His eyes flitted around the alleyway while he concentrated, along the grimy brick foundations of the houses forming the alley, the wooden porches and stairs, the barrels of trash and excess dirt and charcoal. He sighed after a few seconds, not hearing anything new, and turned around, making to leave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as he did, a small voice mumbled behind him, barely loud enough for him to catch. “Wil?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur jumped a bit and swivelled around. “Hi,” he greeted, a little lost for words, given that the boy in front of him somehow looked worse off than he had when Wilbur had last seen him. Tommy’s lips and fingers were tinged a soft blue, grime clinging to his skin, clothes, and hair; sludge residue, mud, and old leaf bits. What Wilbur could tell were tear tracks and snot wiped away where dirt used to be on the kid’s face. Wilbur’s coat and blanket were wrapped tight around Tommy’s shoulders, hood on his head and sleeves covering his hands, and yet he was swaying so much he looked like he was going to collapse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked like</span>
  </em>
  <span> turned into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>was going to</span>
  </em>
  <span> with a painful string of coughs, so Wilbur reached a hand out to steady him, only to retract it immediately when Tommy flinched so hard at the contact that he ended up tripping on his own feet and falling backwards, curling into himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he mumbled, eyes wide with fear and glassy enough that Wilbur knew he wasn’t fully there, reliving some memory that he knew wasn’t good in any way. Wilbur’s heartbeat and Tommy’s breathing both quickened in each others’ panic, the latter one consequently dissolving into a fit of coughs. “I’m sorry, don’t hit me, I’m sorry--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>ached</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he didn’t know what to do. This was so much worse than when he forgot to bring food. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy?” he asked worriedly, trying to keep the anxiety from creeping up his throat. He got no response or acknowledgement, just more hacking and failing to breathe. Wilbur was beginning to have quite the problem with himself. He wished everything about this situation was different. He wished Phil were here. He wished he knew what to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat down slowly across from Tommy after a moments’ hesitation, like Phil used to do whenever his panic got the best of him, back before he had gained Wilbur’s full trust. He waited until Tommy’s coughs had died down to speak again, running his hands against the cuffs of his top sweater while he waited, breathing deeply and slowly like Phil had taught him and Techno to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, it’s Wilbur, yeah?” He said softly, trying not to let his voice shake as much as his hands were. “I’m Wil, remember? Not whoever you’re-- ...yeah. We’re in the alleyway, the one where I left you food in a while ago, and I have food in my pockets, if you want any. You’ve got a blanket and a jacket on you. Can you hear me, Tommy?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, he was met with a nod. Wilbur breathed out a sigh of relief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm cold," Tommy whispered. His voice was hoarse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, probably." Wilbur chuckled softly, a faint smile on his face, but his heart still pounded fast in anxiety. "It's winter, and you seem to be sick. I'm sorry you're cold."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy sniffled and pulled the blanket further around his shoulders. He had hunched in on himself from his spot on the floor, as if he was trying to keep all his body heat trapped against him. Wilbur would probably cry if he left him out here, if he were being honest, and he didn't think he could live with himself if Tommy ended up dying because he didn't offer help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil wouldn't mind, most likely. Wilbur could take his chances. "...Would you like to go somewhere warm?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The bakery?" Tommy coughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, not the bakery. Somewhere else."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy hesitated, looking up at Wilbur slightly. "Is it safe?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur shuffled on his feet. If he forgot himself, he could imagine himself five years ago, asking the same question to Techno. "Yeah. Yeah, it's safe," he said softly, studying Tommy's face for a reaction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay," the boy nodded, looking at the ground again. He made no move to get up. Wilbur doubted he remembered that he was supposed to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Can I pick you up, Tommy?" Wilbur questioned after a moment. "We'll get warm faster, I promise."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded again, taking more than a couple seconds to register the words and make a decision, blinking blearily. Wilbur gently scooped him into his arms, becoming vaguely worried and taking note of the fact that Tommy's skin wasn't nearly hot enough for the state he was in. Tommy was too sick, too delirious, or too tired to care about how he seemed to melt into Wilbur as soon as he was secure there. Wilbur's heart panged in understanding, but he chose to ignore it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is there anything important I should grab?" Wilbur asked, but Tommy was already mostly on his way to falling asleep. He felt the boy's shoulders shrug weakly. He poked around the back of the alleyway, careful not to jostle Tommy, and spotted a small bag hidden away in a corner. He picked it up with difficulty, and by the time he had it in his hand, Tommy had fallen fast asleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>shout out to blue for reminding me this exists. youre my favourite himbo</p><p>i hope you enjoyed!!! i still have more to come dw!!! and maybe another fic soon.... maybe another series starring bedrock bros and ranboo...... maybe.... would u be interested in that</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. bickering and probably too many blankets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>GUYS IM NOT LATE GUYS HOLY SHIT LOOKA T ME GO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wilbur's arms ached despite how little Tommy weighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kid was light, worryingly so, but it's not like he wasn't expecting it. Still, it filled him with worry, anxiety bubbling in his gut even more at the realisation that Tommy was barely even feverish. He wasn't prepared for this, for any part of the situation he had put himself in, but he'd decided weeks ago that he'd face the gods' wrath if it meant Tommy's safety. His arms hurt and his fingers were freezing and he kept having to stop every 30 paces to readjust the sickly child in his hold and keep the bag from dropping, but it was worth it if it meant he didn't have to wake Tommy up and tell him he had to walk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur knew nothing about the severity of sickness. His brain was conflicting between complete worry over if he found Tommy any later, if he had waited even a day more, the boy could've died, and thinking himself completely insane for worrying about that in the first place. Truthfully, he had no clue, and that was what scared him the most. He had never been this sick with Phil, but Techno had-- delirious, hacking up his lungs, though he was much warmer than Tommy was-- and he had ended up fine. Wilbur could only hope things would turn out the same with Tommy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He berated himself for being dramatic under his breath, ignoring looks from pedestrians as he slowly walked home. Tommy loosened his grip around Wilbur's neck as he slept, leaving him with no security if Wilbur were to drop him. Wilbur berated Tommy for that, too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he climbed up the steps of his front porch it occurred to him that he had not considered how he was going to open the door while carrying a child and said child's bag. Or how he was going to get the key to open the door from his pocket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur turned around and glanced up at the sky, squinting, and determined with a nod and a noise of confirmation that Techno had to be back from work by now. He turned back to the door and, after pausing to check that Tommy was still completely unconscious, began kicking at it with his boot and yelling Techno's name until he answered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Blade! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blaaade</span>
  </em>
  <span>--"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno swung the door open with a frustrated "I don't want your </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>--" before cutting himself off, the frustration and annoyance melting off his face and morphing into surprise and then annoyance again when he met Wilbur's eyes, and then the face of the child in his arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hello, Technoblade," Wilbur said pleasantly, lowering his voice to normal volume again. "Can I come inside?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno opened the door wider and walked back into the house so Wilbur could step through. "Please don't tell me you've brought home an orphan."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What, is there a 'Two Orphans Only' rule that I'm unaware of? I'm just saying, one of us could always leave--"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shut up and close the door."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed, kicking the door closed. Techno was at a… respectable distance from him, glaring at Tommy in distrust and complete bewilderment. Wilbur felt Tommy stir against him. "Ah. Can you clear the couch off?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno's eyes narrowed further, but he nodded slowly and walked backwards to the couch, keeping his eyes on the kid until he had bumped into it. He picked up various things and pushed the cushions back into place while Wilbur set the bag down on the counter in the kitchen across the hallway. "Why."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So I can set him down, dipshit," Wilbur scoffed. Techno fixed him with a deadpan stare. Wilbur sighed and relented. "He's homeless. Somehow I'm attached. His name's Tommy."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Somehow you're attached," Techno muttered Then, louder: "Done. Set him down. Why is he here?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur did, straining his knees as he bent down to avoid waking Tommy. "Have you gone deaf? I said he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>homeless,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Techno. It's winter. He's-- well, he's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he's not even close to being as warm as he should be, with how sick he is." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno grunted. "And you're attached."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," Techno said. He pointed to the fireplace, then to the stairs. "You start the fire, I'll get the blankets. He'll need it to warm up, at least until Phil's back."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur hummed an affirmation and set fresh starters on the fire, lighting it with a match. He took off his coat and scarf and hung them by the door while he waited for the fire to grow big enough to put logs on. Techno came back into the room with a pile of blankets in his arms after a minute and passed them to Wilbur, who tucked them around Tommy, and then around Tommy's head, as per Techno's instruction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno studied Tommy as he did that. "Wait--" Wilbur paused. "Is he wearing your jacket?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur continued to pause. "Um."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You made us buy you a </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole new jacket </span>
  </em>
  <span>because you gave it to a homeless kid in the middle of winter?!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He didn't have anything else! What else was I supposed to do, Techno?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't know?" Techno exclaimed, shrugging his arms out in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of gesture. "At least </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell us</span>
  </em>
  <span> or somethin'?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I didn't know how you'd react! You hadn't met him, what if you-- what if Phil turned him away?!" Wilbur paled, suddenly, faltering in his words and movements, and moved to sit on the floor, back against the couch. Techno arched an eyebrow but did the same, facing the couch in a squat, opposite to Wilbur. Wilbur continued helplessly. "...What if Phil turns him away?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He won't," Techno grunted, tilting his head to the side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But what if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He hasn't met him and I've just brought a-- I've brought a street rat, a kid that- I've only met him a handful of times, into a house I don't own."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wilbur." Techno tapped the ground with a finger, and Wilbur quieted with a pout and listened to him. "Wilbur, that was literally both of us. Look at me in the eyes and tell me that Phil would send him away."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur pointedly does not look at him. "He might."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno grunted in disagreement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur sighed, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I'm stupid."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's true."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm just-- He doesn't have a home, Blade."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's typically what homeless means, yes."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I hate you so much."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Cool."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I mean that--" Wilbur sighed and dropped his head in his arms, between his knees. "I mean, he reminds me of both of us. And how I would interact with Phil, before he officially took me in."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Probably because you're kind of in Phil's position right now. Your analysis skills are off the charts."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, Wilbur lifted his head up and glared at Techno, who looked mildly amused. That bastard. "Once again, I despise you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'll despise you and the kid later." Techno grinned and twitched his ear. Wilbur let out a high-pitched groan and dropped his head on his arms again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, god, fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>off--"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"--'Cause right now, Phil's home."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TECHNOS HERE!!! WOOOOOOOOO</p><p>guys. fellow newsboys. lovejoy album on sunday. i have never been more prepared for anything in my life. im gonna lose my shit</p><p>ALSO REMEMBER LAST CHAPTER WHEN I MENTIONED POSSIBLY WRITING A BEDROCK BOYS AND ALLIUMDUO AU? YEAH? DO YOU STILL WANT THAT. PLEASE TELL ME. BC I CAN STILL WRITE THAT IF YOUD READ IT.</p><p>i feel like i need to wish you guys a happy holiday for something but i wasnt even informed that lag baomer was happenign until like a week after it happened so like. i am out of the loop. happy birthday to whoevers birthday is today though</p><p>thank you for reading!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you know me no u dont :]</p><p>drop a comment and kudos if you enjoyed!! attention makes me motivated!!! ily!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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